mensonge
by ailleurs
Summary: (lie) there is no truth in lies, but all the same...GaaSaku


**Prompt:**"I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial!" – Cassio, Othello

* * *

_He's never in class, and if he is, he's late, with that crazed look in his eyes, y'know, and like, everyone knows that he's doing_ something _out there behind the English block._

He doesn't care what they think. He doesn't care at all. Ever since they moved to this hellhole of a town, everyone's been staring, thinking that he's some sort of psychopath, some sort of _killer_. His classmates won't talk to him, and he's glad - it's not as if he wants to talk to a bunch of people with 'holier than thou' attitudes, anyway. The teachers don't talk to him, either; they don't even bother trying to give him detentions, not after he ripped that classroom apart.

As if some middle-aged pot-bellied _loser_ could tell him what to do.

He pulls the grass absentmindedly from where he's sitting behind the old English block. The school doesn't use it anymore, but it stays there because it's cheaper than demolishing it. What a joke. This whole school is a joke, and he can't wait until he's old enough to run away from everyone, from _everything_.

* * *

_One time, I swear I saw a metal baseball bat sticking out of his bag. I bet he uses it to beat people up._

He looks up at the sky and closes his eyes, soaking up the sun. Clearing his mind, he focuses on the sunlight that manages to seep through his eyelids- something like yellow and red and black. His hands clench the grass on the ground and he sighs.

He hears the music in his mind, starting slow and soft before taking form. It's probably something Bach since he's been listening to Bach recently. He tries to hum the melody, but of course it's not the same. His voice is a shaky rumble that does nothing to ease his mind. Glancing at his watch, he figures he can get about an hour of decent sleep before his demon wakes him up, and so he stretches out on the grass before curling in on himself and trying to sleep.

* * *

_He just looks like a person who's going to do something bad, you know? Just that look in his eyes and that tattoo on his forehead. What's that about, anyway?_

Finally he drifts of to sleep, even though he doesn't want to. He hates it because his demon is always screwing him over, conjuring up pictures of his family covered in blood and lying on the floor, and it's _his_ hands that's holding the knife, it's _him _that's stabbing them, over and over and over. Even though he's never seen someone who died, never even been to a funeral, he knows the stench of death because it permeates the air in his nightmares until he's choking and he thinks he's dying too, and that's when he wakes up.

His eyes are bloodshot and he's grabbing at something, anything, and it takes him a moment to realise that for once, he's holding onto something more than air. His eyes finally focus on the person. Pink. He sees pink.

"Are you okay?"

* * *

_I feel sorry for his dad – I guess spoiled kids really turn out the worst, huh?_

He realises where he is and his hands loosen their hold on hers. Pushing himself away from her, he stands up too quickly and stumbles. She stands up, ready to steady him, but he swats her hands away.

"Are you okay?" she asks again. This time, he notices that she's got green eyes.

"Greener than mine," he mumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He glances at his watch. Fifteen minutes. Not enough- not nearly enough, but it'll have to do. He starts to walk away.

"Greener than what?" she asks, confused. She hurries after him. "Wait, wait! Are you okay?" He grits his teeth and turns to her.

"Get lost," he growls, glaring at her. She's taken aback, he can tell, but she doesn't _leave._

"You didn't tell me if you were okay," she says. She pauses. "You were screaming things in your sleep." He tries not to listen to her because he knows it won't be pretty. That's why he doesn't sleep at home anymore. That's why he sleeps _here_.

* * *

_I can't wait until he leaves this town. We don't need people like him here._

"You were calling out for your mom."

_That_ stops him in his tracks. He turns to look back at her and tries to recognise her face. Ah, that's right - she's the pink-haired girl who always carries books and who always raises her hands to answer the questions. Glancing at her pink hair, he finally remembers her name: Sakura.

"Are you okay?" she asks again, wringing her hands. "If you need someone to talk to-"

"I don't."

"W-Well, why aren't you in class?" she asks. "You know school exams start next month, right? Have you studied?"

"I haven't." She falters.

"…Are you okay?" He's getting tired of that question.

"Leave." His head hurts and he feels out of place, more demon than himself. Waking up is always the worst. She must have seen the look in his eyes because she picks up her bag and leaves.

He lies back down on the grass and tries to calm down.

* * *

_I heard he got expelled from his last school cuz he beat this kid up pretty bad and the kid had to go to the hospital. Sick, right? _

He's having a nightmare again. This time there are faces of people he doesn't recognise, and they're laughing at him so he wipes their smiles with their own blood, and now it's _him_ that's smiling, it's _him_ that finds everything funny. The same stench of death fills his nostrils and he's screaming and clawing his way up to the surface. He hears the sound of someone gasping and his eyes are wide open, his mouth opened in a silent scream. Pink. He sees pink again and he loosens his hold. Glancing at her arms, he sees the marks that he's made. He feels sick to his stomach, but more than that, he feels angry.

"I told you to go away," he says slowly. He's hurt her, he's hurt her and his father's right, he's a psycho, a murderer. He clenches at his hair, trying not to scream. She approaches him and he shakes his head.

"Please, let me help-"

"I SAID GO AWAY!" She yelps, as if wounded (but he would never hurt a girl, he would never stoop so low, right? His eyes darts to her wounds and he squeezes them shut) and he hears her leave.

He doesn't see her look back.

* * *

_I pulled out of all the classes I had with him because I don't want to be around a person like that._

She doesn't stop. Every day, she finds him just before he wakes, and she holds onto his arms as his demon feeds him nightmares, painting his dreams in black and white and red. She talks to him, but he doesn't talk back, just waits until she's finished saying whatever it is she's saying before walking away.

He wonders why she even bothers with him.

* * *

_He doesn't talk a lot. When he's in class, he just sits there, glaring at everyone._

He hates the nightmares where the demon shows him his past and twists it. In his nightmare, the demon shows him his father, standing before him with cold eyes – such cold eyes. How many times had he stood before him like this?

"You're a murderer. You killed your mother." The words seem to come from everywhere, stifling him. He's screaming and crying and denying, but there is blood on his hands and it's not his. He turns to his side and sees his mother. Even though he's never met her, he imagines her voice and it's echoing in his head now, accusing and hateful, just like the rest of them.

He's still screaming when he wakes up, and there are tears running down his cheeks and his heart is so full he feels like he's going to die, to just _die_ from it all. He sees pink and he realises that she's wrapped her arms around him tightly. Her shoulders are shaking.

She's crying too.

He wants to make her loosen her hold, but unlike him, who would always let go, she only clutches him tighter. He closes his eyes, and for once, allows himself to be held like this, before he grabs her hands (_gently,_ he grabs her so gently that he surprises even himself) and he untangles himself from her hold. Her green eyes are bright, the brightest he's seen them, and there are tears running down her cheeks and she's furiously wiping them away, but she doesn't leave.

"Please," she says, clenching her fists by her lap. Her eyes search his. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

* * *

_People like him should be locked up._

He finds himself telling her everything. At first his voice is soft and quiet, detached. But then he feels his throat burning, and his voice wavers until it cracks. He tells her how his father blamed him for his mother's death ever since he was little. He tells her how Temari and Kankuro believed their father until they learned what really happened. He tells her how his siblings finally managed to convince their father to move on. He tells her the demon in his nightmares, the one who makes him a murderer in every dream. There's something wrong with him, something no one can fix.

He doesn't look at her and as he's telling his story, he wonders why he bothers. Would she listen? Would she understand? Or would she run away and go back to acting like the rest of them?

After he finishes his story, he sees that she's still crying. He doesn't want to be pitied like this. He stands up to leave, angry at himself for giving in to his weakness.

"P-Please," she says. "Please don't go."

"I don't need your pity," he spits at the word, but she shakes her head.

"I can't imagine what you've gone through," she says, hiccupping. "But I want to help." He stares at her, at this pathetic, pink-haired girl who's crying for someone like him. "I want to help."

"Why?" He doesn't know why she cares, why she wants to help. She doesn't know him and he doesn't know her, so _why?_

"You talk," she says quietly. He steps closer to hear. "When you sleep, you talk. You always ask for your mother, _always_. You always ask her to forgive you. You keep screaming how you're a murderer, and that you'll kill yourself if it makes her happy." She stifles her sob and presses on. "I kn- I used to know someone like you." She wipes her tears hurriedly. "I couldn't save him."

"And you think you can save me?" He's angry, suddenly, and he doesn't know why. "You think that if you save me then you can make up for your past mistake? Is that it?"

"It's nothing like that!" she screams. She stands up. "I want to save you because I know you're more than what everyone is saying. But I'm not pretending that I understand you when I don't. I _want_ to understand you! Let me help you-"

"I don't need your help!" he's screaming now too, and he wants to disappear from this, from _her_. Why must she look at him like she's concerned? In the end, this is all for her self-gratification, right? So she can feel better about herself for helping someone like him, right?

But why does he want to trust her? Why does he want to let her in?

"I want to be your friend-"

"Get away from me!" He knows enough about reputation to know that he's no good for her. She has dreams and all he has is a demon that would probably never go away. "I hate people like you! You make me _sick!_"

He sees betrayal in her eyes and she leaves. He squeezes his eyes shut.

This is probably for the best.

* * *

_He's…he's different._

It's been months since the first time she saw him sleeping behind the English block. She doesn't approach him in school, always keeps her head down whenever she sees him walking down the hallway. He hears that she's got a full scholarship, far away from this small town and he's glad for her.

But sometimes when he wakes up, he misses seeing pink, and his hands are back to clutching nothing. Just like that, he's alone again.

He stares up at the clear, bright sky and closes his eyes, letting the sunlight create colours behind his eyelids.

He hears Bach again, but this time he doesn't bother to hum the tune, just tries to let it lull him to sleep.

Everything is back to the way it was before...

But for the first time in a long time, he doesn't dream.

* * *

**AN.** I feel horrible for absolutely making this so late, but um, I really like this pairing and I don't think I did it enough justice. Anyway, I hope you like this! I'm sorry for my awful prose omg. Extremely belated happy birthday sometimessassystoner! :)


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